


Sick And Alone, Until You Came Along

by DirtyTrenches



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Love, Sickfic, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, hand holding, parental neglect, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyTrenches/pseuds/DirtyTrenches
Summary: Tommy gets sick from having to walk home in the rain, and Wilbur takes care of him.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 54
Kudos: 890





	Sick And Alone, Until You Came Along

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted this. It was going to be part of a prompt thing, but I didn't really think it fit it well, so it's a singular oneshot now like I originally planned for it to be. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the kind comments on the original, now deleted, work! <3
> 
> Disclaimer: This is entirely fictional, and not at all based on real life events. Tommy's parents and how they treat him in this are entirely fictional, and don't act like this in real life.
> 
> CW/TW
> 
> \- Parental neglect  
> \- Vomiting

Chattering voices thrum through the room, the occasional sound of a pencil furiously scratching words and equations on paper the only other vibration in the room. Tommy and a few other students are focused on writing notes, whilst others drone on to their friends about their issues and other things that cross their minds.

As Tommy scribbles down another equation, a part of him can’t help but wish he was like those students, having the confidence to not burn yourself out on school work at every possible moment. His parents would be past livid with him if he didn’t give it past his all, though, so he knows that freedom is a wish that only comes true when he slips his persona on.

Sometimes, Tommy wishes he was more like Tommyinnit in real life than he was like himself.

Tommy pushes his chair back, allowing himself a moment to relax as he leans back, letting his gaze linger out the window, eyes trailing over the clouds as they darken and swirl together.

His eyes squint as he stares for longer, gut clenching in anxiousness as he realizes a storm is likely brewing.

His head twists to instead look down at his paper once again, trying to force his head out of the fog in order to focus on it.

He sighs, feeling like he can smell the heaviness of the rain already.

At least his mother promised to pick him up today, so that was a plus if nothing else.

He smiles, but it’s strained as he picks up his pencil and continues to copy off the white board. He only hopes she keeps this promise.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’s broken it.

Tommy stares blankly at his phone screen, the brightness of it stinging his eyes the longer he stares at it unblinkingly.

He’s sat on a bench underneath the lip of the college, the only place around that provides him dry shelter from the pouring rain that nips the air, the cold wetness of it seeping through the air and lingering.

He yearns to be in a warm car, the heating warming him and drying him after he inevitably walks the short distance to it in order to get inside.

Instead, he's outside of his college, alone and cold, staring at his mothers’ text message that should hurt and sting more, but instead makes him feel just as empty as his parent’s always seem to make him feel.

**  
_Mum At 5:06 PM_  
**

_Thomas, your father and I were called in on a last-minute meeting. It was an extremely important one, and we couldn’t afford to skip it. We’ll be gone for the next two days. You’ll have to find your own way home. Xx_

Tommy feels his grip on his phone tighten, hand shaking with the strain he’s putting on it. Any other kid would be angry, spam calling and question why the _hell_ their parents abandoned them with no for warning to go fuck off to a different city for a business meeting they _absolutely_ could have skipped out on, but instead Tommy just accepts it.

He wishes he could be surprised, maybe even annoyed, but he’s gotten so used to his parents letting him down and abandoning him to fend for himself for weeks on end he can’t even muster up the energy to be angry anymore. So, acceptance is the only option.

He has no other choice, really. He learned long ago that protesting to the weeks or even _months_ of being alone only resulted in shouting matches that left him shaking in his room for hours afterwards, wondering if he really was the ungrateful little twat his parents made him out to be.

Sighing, he locks his phone and pockets it, not bothering to respond to the message. It’ll probably get him angry phone calls the next day when his parents bother to actually check up on him, questioning why he thinks it’s a good idea to _‘worry’_ them by not responding.

He knows it’s bullshit. They only act like parents when it suits them.

Eyes lingering on the steady rain fall, droplets crashing so harshly on the pavement it threatens to give him a migraine, he stands up, readying himself for a twenty-minute walk through the ice-cold rain.

When Tommy finally arrives to his front doorstep, he’s absolutely beyond what would be considered drenched. He can barely feel his fingers, to the point where his bag that he moved to clench in his arms in hope that contents wouldn’t get soaked, has almost slipped from his grasp more times than he can count.

He wrestles with the key he has on him, the metal item slippery in his wet hands, before he finally gets it into the lock, finally getting the door open.

When he flings it open, so harshly and desperately it bangs off the wall, he’s hit with an air of absolute _cold_ it makes him want to collapse to a pile on the floor and weep.

His parent’s left, and didn’t even bother turning the heat on, despite them having to of known it would be cold that day.

It’s stupid how _this_ is what finally makes him shake, biting back the sob that wants to escape his throat as his eyes swell up with tears. He tries to shove the emotions down as deeply as possible, slamming the front door closed behind him and locking it.

He stares at the ground beneath him for a long moment, blurry eyes still able to make out the puddle on the floor that’s slowly growing in length under his feet.

Every part of him knows he doesn’t have the energy to clean it, but he knows he’s going to do it anyways.

His parents will be furious if he doesn’t after all.

Letting out a sigh that sounds more like a whimper, heart heavy with sadness, he brushes his wet fringe out of his eyes, the wetness of the clumps making him cringe slightly as he tosses his bag to the side, slipping his phone out of his pocket and placing it safely on the banister next to him.

He trudges up the steps, not bothering to take off his shoes as he squelches around the hallway, not stopping to grab any clothes, not wanting to drench the floor in his room like he’s drenched almost every other room in the house.

He peels off his soaked clothes, the feeling of the wet fabric slipping off of him making him grimace, before taking the hottest shower he can possibly handle, sighing happily as the burn slowly brings feeling back into his fingers and every other tingling part of his body.

He leans his head against the wall, letting the water run down him, closing his eyes as he listens to the emptiness of the house. The only sound he hears is his dogs occasional whine from being in the cage, but no other sound of life.

Not his mother typing on her computer, the sipping sounds she makes as she sips her morning tea. Not his father commentating on all the shows he’s watching in his down time.

He tries to pretend like it doesn’t bother him.

It doesn’t work.

He washes his body and hair, before hopping out the shower and toweling off, wrapping the towel around his waist when he’s done as he makes his way to his bedroom in search of warm clothes.

He rummages through his drawers for several long minutes, before finding suitable clothes, quickly getting dressed before flopping down into his computer chair, drooping eyes staring at the black screen of his desktop.

Despite having turned the heat on a while ago, and being dressed in a warm hoodie Phil bought him at their first meet up, he still feels cold.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when his phone lights up next to him, making him remember he brought it with him when he went to turn the heat on. He stares at it for a moment before reaching out to grab it, pulling it closer as he unlocks it.

A Twitch notification from Wilbur stares back at him, and, despite the chill he still feels clinging to every pore, and the strange sluggishness he now feels weighing his arms down slightly, he feels a small spark of warmth bloom in his gut seeing his friends name.

Wasting no time, he boots his desktop up and waits for it to completely start up. When it does, he opens up Twitch and slips his headphones on, smiling when the first thing he hears when he opens up Wilbur’s stream is him laughing as he messes around with his guitar whilst he’s on voice call with Phil and Techno.

It’s a chill stream, something Wilbur has started to do more recently. It’s something Tommy himself enjoys watching immensely.

Its always nice to see his friend be himself and more relaxed in front of the camera.

He isn’t paying complete attention to the stream, staring at it with bleary eyes as a strange fog seems to take over his mind, but his eyes are trailing over the chat, a sleepy smile taking over his face as he reads the viewers mention that they wish the whole Sleepy Bois were there.

Lifting himself up slightly from his comfortable position, his fingers fly over the keys as he sends a message in chat, laughing slightly at the chaos that implodes in chat immediately after.

****  
_TommyInnit:_  


_I can’t believe you guys are doing a stream without me. This is the worst streamer group ever_

The chat flies by as more and more people notice the comment, and Tommy cackles at the funnier comments, but keeps his focus mainly on Wilbur, waiting for his reaction.

It takes a while, but eventually Wilbur seems to be reading the chat. Tommy knows the moment he sees his message, because a big dopey grin blooms on his face, and it makes his heart clench knowing he can make Wilbur smile like that.

 _“'I can’t believe you guys are doing a stream without me, this is the worst streamer group ever.'"_ Wilbur reads aloud, laughing loudly. “You say that, you gremlin child, but you know you love us.” He teases.

Tommy smiles, not bothering to respond in chat, but he knows that he’s right, even if he wonders if they reciprocate that love outside of their personas. He pushes the thought away, not wanting to linger on it and allow it to ruin his mood. His smile only widens when Phil and Techno rib on him, too, teasing that they’re his favorite people _ever, and what would Tommy do without them?_

And, although Tommy knows it’s all teasing, they really are right.

It makes his chest tighten, the thoughts from before returning. He feels heavy.

Wilbur asks him to join the voice chat, and although Tommy really would love to, knowing the company of his friends would bring him nothing but happiness, and would help him forget how alone he feels in that moment, he can’t muster up the energy to put up a front in front of his audience. So, he opts to say nothing and continue to watch him quietly, letting his eyes droop slightly as he sinks further into his seat.

Wilbur’s voice was always so calming, he’s fallen asleep listening to his music and videos before, so it doesn’t surprise him that it’s slowly lulling him to the land of slumber again.

He feels it in his grasp, so close, before his eyes shoot open as a violent sneeze erupts from his mouth, so sudden he didn’t know it was coming until the moment it was torn from his mouth.

He scrambles for a tissue to blow his nose with, feeling groggy and fuzzy from getting ripped away so suddenly from his peaceful haze.

When he gets comfortable again, he tries to fall asleep again, but can’t find the energy to anymore. It frustrates him, but the constant sneezing escaping him frustrates him even more.

His heart tightens as a part of his mind hesitantly suggests to him that he may be getting sick, but he pushes the thought to the side so violently he almost forgets he thought it at all entirely.

As he watches Wilbur continue to laugh and fiddle with his guitar on his screen, a yearning in his heart to have that teasing voice directed at him again overtakes him, and before he can second guess his decision, he pulls up his discord and joins the other Sleepy Bois’ voice call before the action completely registers in his mind.

He watches Wilbur’s face contort in confusion for a moment when he hears the Discord beep signaling someone’s joined the call, but when he catches sight of who it is, cheer seems to immediately erupt across his face.

Tommy doesn’t understand how anyone could ever be so happy to just _speak with him._ It makes him wonder if it’s all just a front, no matter how happy that possible front makes him feel.

“Tommy!” Wilbur and Phil echo at the same time, laughing after the say it in unison. Techno lets out a much quieter, “Hullo.” But, it’s affectionate all the same.

A dopey smile crosses his face, and he leans back into his chair, ignoring the scratchy feeling in his throat as he speaks up. “Hello, boys, Tommyinnit has finally arrived in the voice call. Now it’s completely worth watching the stream, chat!”

Wilbur splutters a little bit, pretending to be genuinely offended, before laughing, immediately quipping back that it makes the stream actually skippable.

Tommy lets out an indignant noise, chest warm at the familiar bantering, not hesitating to banter back.

His heart swells happily more when he hears Phil and Techno laughing at them both in his ears.

“You’re farming awes in the chat, Tommyinnit.” Wilbur eventually points out, cutting Tommy off in the middle of ranting about Wilbur in a joking manner.

Tommy lets his gaze fall onto the chat on his screen, eyebrows raising in surprise when he realizes it’s the truth, the chat flying by in mixtures of _‘awes’_ and _‘They’re acting just like brothers!’_

Although the brother comments cause his heart to tighten, wishing it was true, it makes a smile, warm and soft, settle on his face. Despite the inner pain, he still opens his mouth to pretend like bickering with his friend like this hasn’t made his cloudy day just a little bit sunnier, “Ew, chat, don’t be farming awes for this dickhead! I’d rather die than farm a single awe for this man.”

Wilbur busts out laughing, and it makes him grin, suddenly happy the Sleepy Bois couldn’t see his sappy reaction at making his brother figure laugh.

He coughs quietly into his elbow. Despite it all, he still feels heavy.

They go back and forth for a while, the heaviness in Tommy’s heart starting to dissipate, before Wilbur announces that he’s going to end stream.

They all say goodbye, sitting in a comfortable silence whilst Wilbur talks to his chat for a little bit, before Wilbur joins them again, the four of them getting to chat quietly alone for a while.

They chat about nothing particular for the longest time, laughing over stupid memes and other stuff that doesn’t register in Tommy’s mind that’s increasingly getting fuzzier as every second ticks by.

In the middle of speaking quietly about class that morning, purposefully glossing over mentioning his parents in any manner, he erupts into a sneezing fit, coughing roughly into his arm immediately after, feeling dazed from the nonstop actions.

His hearing seems to cut out for a long moment, and he stares blankly at the dirty tissue clenched in his hand for several long moments— When did he even blow his nose to begin with?— Before the sounds of increasingly worried voices snaps him out of his stupor.

“Tommy!” Cuts through the fuzzy static in his brain, and he blearily recognizes the voice as Wilbur’s.

He opens his mouth to speak, to reassure he’s fine, but the scratchiness of his throat finally affects him, and he coughs again. He sucks in a deep shuddering breath, before finally slurring back, hazy mind forgetting that this isn’t just a call between him and Wilbur, forgetting the other Sleepy Boi’s are there as well. “Wil’br, I think ‘m gettin’ sick.”

He hears multiple voices speak up in worry, but all his foggy brain can manage to focus on is the calming gentleness of Wilbur’s voice.

Don’t get him wrong, the Sleepy Bois are more like a family to him than his own is most the time, but Wilbur has always been different for him. He’s always been able to admit to himself easier that Wilbur was like a brother to him, than he’s been able to with the others.

He always had difficulties working out with himself what categories he would put Phil and Techno in, despite how brotherly and fatherly they both acted. He doesn’t know why he had such a hard time with it, but maybe it was because Tommy clicked with Wilbur so easily everything that came with him didn’t feel like much of a struggle at all.

He felt safe and warm with all of them, not to mention loved, but with Wilbur it always felt like he was more willing to show it to him, like telling the teenager he was his brother was natural, even if Tommy didn’t quite believe it was more than just a bit.

Maybe that’s why, in the moment’s he always felt weakest, he turned to Wilbur, the familiarity he felt with the older man more reassuring than anybody else’s presence.

“Sick?” Wilbur’s concerned voice speaks up, voice low and comforting. “Tell your parent’s, Toms. They’ll take care of you, I don’t want you feeling worse than you already must be feeling.”

And, although Tommy knows he’s coming from a good place, not knowing the full details of the situation surrounding him and his parent’s, he feels his heart twist bitterly, eyes scrunching shut as his head gets fuzzier the longer he keeps them open.

“They aren’t home,” He practically spits, sick brain not being capable of at least trying to hold back the bitterness of the words. “They never are.”

“What do you mean, _‘They never are?’_ ” Techno’s voice finally registers in his mind again, a darkness Tommy isn’t used to hearing from him outside of joking bits tinting his tone.

It should scare him, but he knows it’s not directed towards him. Somehow, it makes him feel cared for instead.

Before he can explain, affirm the notion that they barely bother to stick around anymore, now that he can _'Take care of himself, with all that money of his,’_ that he barely ever gets the privilege to even use, Wilbur’s voice floods his ears again, and the pained undertone beneath it makes him tear up, as if Wilbur is the one sick and alone and not him.

_“You’re all alone?”_

Tommy feels the haziness of his mind over lapse him in a sudden instant. Before he can let the blackness that’s slowly building up in the corner of his eyes completely overtake him, he mutters out a solemn, “I’m always alone.”

Before promptly passing out face first on his keyboard.

He doesn’t hear the panicked cries of his pseudo family.

Tommy’s jostled awake by being roughly shoved back and forth, someone clearly trying to shake him back into consciousness. He ignores it for a moment, clouded mind delusionally hoping it’ll stop and he could go back into a dreamless slumber, before slowly opening his eyes when he realizes that’s definitely not going to be the case.

Vision blurred, he tries for several long moments to focus on the face at the right of his peripheral. After blinking in order to clear the blurriness, the person’s face comes into focus, and it’s like everything around him becomes sharpened in contrast.

His face is mashed into the keyboard, cheek smushed where it landed, eye scrunched up and slightly throbbing, likely from the impact. His room is mostly dark, clearly several hours have gone by and he didn’t bother to turn the lights on when he came home because it was still light out, with only the lamp beside his bed on in order to bathe the room in at least _some_ light.

And, staring back at him is Wilbur Soot, someone who should definitely _not be here,_ and wasn’t there previously when he had _passed out._

Wilbur is staring at him, worry clouding his eyes, mouth moving. The words he’s saying isn’t registering, Tommy’s hazy mind not able to compute it, not able to compute the fact that his friend is even _there._

After several long moments of blinking owlishly at the elder, and trying to clear the fog from his mind to the best of his ability, he finally opens his mouth to croak out a, “Wilb'r? How’d you get 'n here?”

Immediately after opening his mouth, it’s like a pain he wasn’t aware of before in his stomach has caught up with him, and before Wilbur can even answer, he’s shooting up out of his chair, haze from his mind forgotten as he stumbles across the room to his trash can, dropping to his knees as he spews stomach acid over empty coke bottles and dirty tissues.

Faintly, he’s aware of a hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles into his back.

Vaguely, he wonders why Wilbur is even doing it. His parents never did, not even once. He could deal with it on his own.

He’s done it before.

Despite his thoughts, however, he leans into the touch, wishing he could brand the loving gesture onto his skin forever, so he could forget the pain that other peoples’ attention have given him.

He hacks into the garbage after releasing all his stomachs contents, before promptly sagging into it, wiping away stray bits of bile from his mouth, deep breathes shakily escaping his mouth as he tries to pull himself together.

After he pulls himself together, he turns to face the only other person in the room, hoping he doesn’t look as bad as he feels. By the way Wilbur’s face twists in a sorry grimace, he knows that’s definitely not the case.

He stares warily as Wilbur lifts his spare hand that isn’t still settled on his back onto his forehead, cupping it in order to get a feel for what his temperature might be.

Wilbur’s hand is cool, and Tommy can’t help but let his eyes flicker shut, leaning into the touch, a satisfied sigh escaping his mouth as it makes the heat that seems to be clinging to every inch of him settle slightly.

He feels Wil chuckle slightly at his reaction, and it makes the tips of his fingers brush against his head. He feels the callousness of his hands, and pieces together it must be from playing guitar. Despite what people always say about callous hands, he finds a comfort in the roughness. It says a lot about his friend without Wilbur even having to say it.

After a long moment, Wilbur pulls his hand back. Tommy feels a whine rip from his throat, missing the comforting cool touch, before he can stifle it. He feels his face heat up in embarrassment at the reaction as he pries open his eyes, which only makes him feel worse since it makes him even hotter.

Wilbur, though, just moves his hand forward to gently swipe away the curls clinging to his forehead from sweat, smile lilting upwards in a fond way he doesn’t see directed towards him often.

It makes him feel overwhelmed, but for the first time, it’s in a way that he finds comforting.

“You have a high temperature,” Wilbur says, pulling his fingers away from Tommy to instead settle on Tommy’s side, other hand shifting to the other. “Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

Tommy can’t even bother to muster up a response, so all he does is nod his head slowly, knowing that if he does it any quicker he’d likely pass out similarly to earlier.

He allows Wilbur to man handle him up, hands on his waist pulling him into a standing position. He staggers forward when he’s fully up, practically tumbling into Wil with the action.

Almost reflexively, his arms wrap around the elders’ waist, and he shoves his face roughly into the older man’s chest, eyes squeezing shut as he momentarily forgoes the request of getting into bed to soak in the comfort of his brother figure.

If he were more in his right mind, he would never have done this, would never have allowed himself to hug or enjoy any affection from his friend. He would have known _better._ His parents would’ve been beyond livid, angry that their son was getting into their personal space and disturbing their peace by being the annoyance he always was.

If Tommy wanted a hug, he’d have to hug himself to sleep or hope he dreams of a better world where he’s allowed that kind of touch. He doesn’t deserve the real thing, that’s something he’s quickly come to learn.

But, as he feels arms tightly hug him back, gathering him close in a comforting embrace he never had the privilege of experiencing before, his sickly brain comes to the earth-shattering conclusion that Wilbur doesn’t seem to _care._

In fact, he can feel it in the way Wilbur smushes his face into his shoulder, smile clearly felt even through his shirt. Can feel it in the way his arms tighten after a few moments, like he can feel Tommy’s hesitation about continuing the embrace, like he doesn’t want him to _leave it._

_He’s enjoying it. Just like Tommy is._

Tears gather in his eyes, and he can feel his throat tighten up, but he’s too tired to let the tears flow, to unleash the pain he’s been feeling for years. So, instead, he slowly pulls back, and turns away from Wilbur, not wanting him to see the expression on his face as he finally collapses on the bed like he was supposed to before.

He doesn’t look up, even as the bed creaks and dips as Wil sits near his legs. But, he does allow himself to smile when he feels Wilbur pull the blankets up to cover him, tucking the sheet in certain places so he stays comfortable.

“You didn’t answer m' question fr'm earlier,” He eventually mumbles, snuggling into the blankets but still not opening his eyes. “How’d you get 'n here? I locked the door.”

There’s a moment’s pause, like Wilbur is thinking of what to say, and when he does finally speak, he can hear the smug pride in his tone. “I jimmied the lock.”

His eyes finally shoot open, locking eyes with Wilbur, who has a pleased grin on his face, though it softens the moment Tommy makes eye contact.

“What?” He croaks out, disbelief clinging to his tone, “Why?”

Wilbur _broke_ into his house to take care of him?

Wilbur frowns, all amusement gone from his features as he reaches a hand out to scratch at Tommy’s blond curls, seemingly doing it for his comfort more than Tommy’s.

“Because you _passed out,_ ” He practically whispers, like the memory of the moment scares him. Tommy doesn’t know how to handle that thought. “And, if your parents aren’t going to take care of you, then I sure as bloody hell will.”

Tommy feels tears prick into the corner of his eyes at Wilbur’s declaration, not knowing how to process such genuine care being directed his way. He’s not used to it, _and that scares him,_ but he can’t help but soak in it anyways, because he may never get a moment like this again in his entire life time.

“You didn’t have to do that,” He whispers in turn, eyes trained on a blood stain that’s been on his sheets for days, having been too lazy to clean it. He feels a phantom pain from his nose where he got popped in the face at college, having been where the stain originated from. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to take care of myself, Wil.”

And, its true. Every time he’s gotten sick, every hit he’s taken from college and secondary school alike, every scrape he’d gotten since the age of eight, he’s dealt with on his own. His parents are busy with things more important than him, and he understands.

 _No, you don’t,_ A traitorous voice in the back of his head whispers to him, sounding suspiciously like Technoblade. _You never have._

He elects to ignore it.

He can’t see Wilbur’s reaction to his words, eyes still trained on the blood stain like it’ll magically clean it, but he hears the way his breath hitches.

“Tommy,” Wilbur’s gentle voice says, voice brittle like his words have physically shattered him. “Look at me, please.”

_Please._

When was the last time he heard someone ask him that very question, in such a gentle voice? Urging, but not commanding? Desperate, but not malicious?

 _Never,_ That same voice contributes, _Not even once._

At least, not before—

_Wilbur._

He doesn’t hesitate to look up, for once not out of obligational fear, but because he _wants to._

_Because, he can trust the owner of that gentle voice, he can trust his brother figure._

And, even though a part of him always knew that, or at least craved for that to be the truth, to have it so suddenly confirmed without Wil even having to say it… It comforts him in a way he’s never felt before.

Wilbur smiles when they make eye contact, warm and without a trace of malice, hand coming up to cup his cheek that isn’t pushed into the pillow, thumb swiping away a tear he didn’t even know fell.

“You should never, _ever_ , had to take care of yourself all on your own.” He states, like it’s a fact, and Tommy comes to the horrific conclusion all at once that it really just… _is._

He always felt bitter towards his parents and the fact that they clearly favored everything else under the moon over him, but it never truly clicked in his mind that he didn’t _deserve that treatment._ He figured it was because he wasn’t a good enough son, that he didn’t give them enough of a reason to stay.

So, he worked extra hard in college, making sure he got good grades even when it was at the sacrifice of his health and sleep, making sure he churned out as many streams and videos out as possible, even when he didn’t enjoy them, so they could have extra money to work with. He never really ever spent a single cent of his own money, and when he did, he asked them for _permission to do so._

And, they rarely even said yes, unless it benefited them in some way. The money that _he earned and worked for,_ and he could barely even use it.

He did everything, _everything he could,_ for people who just didn’t love him.

And, as he looks up into Wilbur’s gentle brown eyes, patient and understanding, the crash of that realization finally completely makes an impact, and the tears start to fall rapidly, some quickly coating Wil’s fingers from where they still cup his cheek.

Wilbur looks startled, worry coating his eyes, but before he can speak up, all the emotional hurt Tommy’s ever felt is spilled out in one single sentence, _“Then why do they leave me all alone?”_

Wilbur’s face seems to shatter, eyes seeming to blur in tears of his own as he watches the younger shatter before him, heaving sobs shuttering through him as he let’s the emotional waterfall roll off his tongue, pent up emotions from years of parental neglect stuttering out of his mouth.

“Why don’t they _love me,_ Wilbur? Why am I not enough? They never _stay._ ” He chokes out, burying his face into Wilbur’s shoulder when the man quickly moves to lay next to him, hand slipping from his face to hold him close. “I must be such a terrible child if my own parents can’t even muster up the energy to _pretend_ to love me. I must be such a fucking _burden_ to them, _and I don’t even know why. I don’t even know what I did._ ”

“You never did _anything,_ Tommy.” Wilbur interjects, voice shaky as he tries to hold himself together for the boy in his arms.

“I do everything they ask,” He whispers, hold tightening in a silent agreement with Wilbur’s words, though he doesn’t know how to voice aloud how much he appreciates someone else in this world finally acknowledging and agreeing with the thoughts that have always plagued his mind. “And it’s not enough,” He repeats, quieter but more wrecked, _“It’s not enough.”_

Wilbur’s hold on him tightens greatly, but in a way that comforts and protects him from the weight of those words rather than hurting him.

“You are _more than enough._ ” Wilbur says through clenched teeth, voice wavering as he clearly tries to hold back tears. Tommy feels bad for making him feel so bad, but at the same time, finds a comfort in knowing the knowledge of the way his parents treat him pains someone other than him. “You are _beyond enough._ You never had to prove a single _damn_ thing, Toms, and they should have _never_ made you feel like you had to.”

Wilbur pulls away, and although it pains Tommy in a way that almost feels physical, he allows it, staring up at the elder with tired broken eyes, tears still slipping, though slower than before.

The brunet lifts his index finger and brushes them away, smile reassuring as he continues to speak, gaze trained on the younger.

“You are the most amazing person I know,” He confesses, making Tommy’s eyes widen in shock, disbelief clouding in his chest, despite how much his heart hopes it’s the truth. “You’re so _young,_ yet you still have managed to bring smiles and laughter to _millions_ of peoples faces, _including mine._ You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met, and you care so deeply about the people around you. Every time you do a bit, you always make sure me and the others are comfortable before and after you make them. You have everyone’s best interests at heart— Tommy… You’re _amazing._ ”

Tommy stares up at Wilbur, tears now dried as he looks up at him in amazement, clinging onto every word like a lifeline. It isn’t the first time he’s heard the older man say such words about him, as he’s told them on _camera_ before with no prompting in MCC and on the SMP, but to have him say it to his face with such _love_ in his eyes, sincerity clinging to every word…

It makes the words more real. It makes him want to _believe him,_ like he’s tried to before but always failed in succeeding. This time, his heart tries to recognize them as truth, even if it’s hard to believe.

“You really think so?” He checks, voice small. He believes Wilbur isn’t lying to him, but at the same time, that insecurity that always clings to his soul is so sure he’s just saying these nice words just to rip them away from him ruthlessly.

But, like always, Wilbur grins so widely, white teeth glinting in the light, and he knows the man is going to prove that insecurity wrong before he even speaks.

“I _know_ so, Toms.”

He smiles, the most genuine smile he’s smiled in a long, _long_ time, feeling the sleepiness and fever from earlier slowly cloud back into him now that the adrenaline from his mental breakdown has slowly started to wash away.

As if he can feel it, Wilbur pulls back, eyes concerned as he regards him from the sitting position he’s pushed himself up to.

“Get some rest, Toms,” Wilbur requests softly, hand brushing his curls back. He leans into the touch, tired eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll go out and get you some medicine and a thermometer to check your fever more properly. I’ll take care of you, so don’t worry.”

The, _‘You won’t be alone.’_ Is unspoken, but it’s there, and Tommy takes comfort in it, heart in tethers from hearing someone voice sincerely about their need to take care of him.

Before Wilbur can get up and leave, or take his hand away from his hair where it settled, Tommy snatches it and curls his fingers into the bigger hand, shoulders sagging with released tension as he finds a warming comfort from the affection.

“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” He requests, drowsiness making his voice low and words slightly slurred. He can’t bother being embarrassed about it, having already bared his soul to the older man in a way he’s done with no one else. There’s nothing else in this world he can be more reluctant to share than that, yet he still did it. _“Please?”_

He can’t see Wil’s reaction through his closed eyes, already feeling sleep pull him in, but the way Wilbur’s hand tightens around his and starts rubbing comforting circles in the skin tells him more than his expression would.

“Of course, Toms,” He hears murmured, the haze of sleep dragging him away, but before it does, he hears a gentler, “Don’t worry, I won’t let you be alone again.”

And, as he finally drifts off, its with a smile on his face.

When he wakes up next, it’s to the gentle face of his brother figure— _Is he allowed to think of him as his brother, would it make the man mad despite how much he seems to care for him?_ — taking his temperature, before being fed meds and a comfortingly warm bowl of chicken noodle soup.

And, if Wilbur is holding his spare hand the whole time, mentioning how he cleaned the wet spots off the floor from earlier for him so he didn’t get in trouble when his parents came back, had let the dogs out and feed them, and made sure to let the other Sleepy Bois know he’s okay, that’s no one’s business but their own.

As is the way Tommy falls back asleep against Wilbur’s shoulder, wishing he could feel this safe and warm more often.

Wilbur smiles down at Tommy from his position next to him on the bed, smile fond and soft as he looks down at the younger boy he very much considers his younger brother.

He ignores the way his heart tightens in dread at the knowledge that he’ll have to leave him late the next day, knowing his parents wouldn’t be happy he was there.

For now, he basks in the comfort of being with his brother, and the knowledge that he’s okay, at least for now.

“I love you.” He whispers to the younger sincerely, fondness coating his tone, though sad knowing he can’t hear him.

He promises himself next time he’ll make sure to tell him when he’s awake.

Tommy deserves to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment, it would really help me with my motivation to write lol. Hope you enjoyed!


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